


Shadows

by EmeraldTulip



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Flashbacks, My First Fanfic, Post-Episode: s02e19-20 Twilight of the Apprentice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-04 09:42:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6652822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldTulip/pseuds/EmeraldTulip
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's lost too much. His family, his friends... he can never get them back. And whatever sparks of hope he might've had have been extinguished by the events on Malachor. He knows, just knows, that nothing is the same. And nothing ever will be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shadows

**Author's Note:**

> I was debating for a long time whether to write something about the Rebels season 2 finale, and I eventually just caved and went for it. This story isn't my first, but it's my first in this fandom and on this site.
> 
> I'm going to stop talking now. Enjoy the story, everyone!

It calls to him, the darkness.

Reaches for him.

Wraps itself around him.

Envelops him in its inky blackness.

He can _feel_ it.

And he can hardly bear it, because the thing in his hand that radiates those shadows, the burning _cold_ of it pressing into his palm… it costs too much.

It cost his master his eyes.

It cost his friend her _life_.

All of it is a price he can never fully compensate them for.

And for what? A little glowing pyramid no one can open. None of them are Sith, after all, so it’s absolutely, totally, utterly _useless_.

It’s his fault.

But at the same time, the gloom is… inviting, almost. _Let me help you_ , it says. _I will take away your pain. I will make you_ powerful _. You will_ never _feel like a failure again._

It is so tempting.

He knows Maul was lying. The whole time, he was being played. But he knows, just _knows_ , that Maul was telling the truth about the power of the holocron. And he _does_ feel like such a failure. So a promise of that never happening again… it’s what he wants.

But he can’t. Because he’s a Jedi… well, in training, anyway. He stands for the light. But the dark is just so appealing. What does it mean, if the ink threatens to spill over him?

He doesn’t know what to do.

Staring down at the glowing red object sitting in his palm, he lets himself get lost in the color. Just lets himself float… and then he realizes that what he was experiencing was what Kanan must have seen in his last moments with eyesight. The red is the exact color of Maul’s lightsaber.

He wrenches his consciousness from the pyramid. It’s too horrible—his master’s last image was of the traitorous ex-Darth.

_Darth…_

He can’t think about Maul anymore lest he fly into a rage, so he switches his thoughts over to the other Sith, the one who… who killed Ahsoka. Probably a mistake, because he instantly is pulled into the memory. 

* * *

_“Kanan!” he yells in a panic as an invisible force grabs him like a vise, yanking him back by his wrist. With one arm aching painfully (likely a result of his lightsaber being forcefully shattered while in his hand) and the other slightly scorched by the lightning and clutching the newly acquired holocron, keeping a hold on Kanan’s arm is difficult. But he_ has _to hold on, because if he doesn’t, that absolutely_ vile _creature wearing the mask will get it—and he can’t let that happen. “It’s him!”_

_“I know!” his now-blind master calls back, pulling back and straining to get to the shuttle._

_The holocron slips from his fingers for a fraction of a second, and he panics, reaching out and scrambling to get it back. Fortunately, he snatches it out of the air—but he knows he can’t hold it up for much longer._

_There’s a sudden flash of white light, and it all happens to fast—his eyes can’t process what happens. Suddenly, Ahsoka is sprawled on the ground, clutching her deactivated lightsabers, and the Darth is on his knees. Possibly more importantly, the holocron is safe. But then the strangest thing happens—the dark cloaked figure struggles to his feet… and says Ahsoka’s name._

_“Ahsoka…”_

_The voice is more normal sounding, less filtered robot, and definitely full of pain. There are traces of another voice in there. It almost makes him seem… human._

_Moreover, it seems to trigger something in Ahsoka’s mind, and he sees her blue eyes widen. Shell-shocked, she turns away from him, towards the injured Sith, to speak. He can’t hear her properly, but he could swear he hears her murmur a single word, another name, one he heard the two of them discussing before, one Ahsoka and Kanan have told him about, the Jedi generals—_

_“_ Anakin _.”_

_A single yellow eye is staring out of a gap her burning white lightsabers cleaved through his helmet. Despite him being so far away, he can see how deep red threads its way through the deep golden iris. The Sith continues to speak to Ahsoka, and her voice gets louder and louder with each word that leaves her lips._

_“I won’t leave you,” she says defiantly, even louder. Her voice hardens as she tightens her grip on her sabers. “Not this time.”_

Not this time? _he repeats internally, wondering. His mind supplies only one possible reason:_ she knows him. Unless... _His mind dismisses it._ No. Not possible. Anakin Skywalker? _But there is no time to dwell on it, because the Sith has already delivered a threat to the former Jedi._

 _“Then you will_ die _.” His lightsaber flares to life, the pupil in that single, unmasked, creepy eye dilating in the red light._

 _He knows he can’t just stand there and watch him kill her, so he tries to run forward. "Ahsoka!" But Ahsoka does something reckless and impulsive and so_ like her _—she raises her hands and pushes him back. He falls, a door sliding down between him and her as the temple continues to fall apart around them. “No!” He scrambles forward—too late._

 _But he swears he hears her voice in his head:_ Go, Ezra!

 _His last image of Ahsoka Tano is her two white lightsabers crossed in a defensive_ X _shape as she fights for her life._  

* * *

The purple color of the blast that ripped open the ground—along with his friend—simply won’t leave his mind. Forcing back a sob, he feels that despair well up inside him. The events on Malachor has left no one undamaged, he knows. The crew is splintered. Kanan is blind. Rex is mourning. Ahsoka is dead. And he, Ezra…

He’s felt the darkness before, but never with the potency he senses now. He suddenly realizes how hard he has been clutching the holocron, and he relaxes his grip—just slightly. He bites back a groan of pain as he feels how deep the indentations left from the sharp metal are. But he doesn’t dare go to any of the crew members, or get any medical supplies, because their resources are limited. Besides, he will heal. It’s not permanent, like what happened to Kanan or Ahsoka…

His train of thought falters. No, he still cannot think about any of that for long. Choosing to focus on the holocron once again, he stares at the shadows the pyramid casts across the walls. That’s what he is, he realizes—what they all are. Shadows. Ghosts of their past selves. They can’t ever fix themselves. 

He almost wishes he was back on Lothal. Almost. The only reason he doesn’t is because his parents are—or were, at least—proud of him. His work carries on their legacy.

An abrupt and irrational surge of rage washes over him. But it’s not actually irrational: his work, _their_ work, the whole Rebellion, cost his parents their lives, too.

Like he said, the whole business costs them _all_ too much. And if no one can even _open_ the holocron, then what’s the point?

His brow furrows. He can’t let his parent’s and Ahsoka’s sacrifices be in vain. Kanan can’t have lost his sight for nothing. He has to do _something_. And if that means surrendering himself to the darkness, then so be it. As long as he destroys everything that the Empire holds dear—as long as he does that, then he can be at peace.

Yes, it is the only way.

He remembers Darth Vader—whom he suspects to be Anakin Skywalker. A fallen Jedi.

He can relate.

He remembers Ahsoka's words:  _"I am no Jedi."_

He thinks he might feel the same.

So he channels his fury at his own failure. He redirects his frustration and his pain and his despair until it fills him, overwhelms him completely. The holocron shivers in his palm, then begins to float. And he lets the shadows consume him. 

* * *

_The red flashes through the room, and suddenly—Ezra_ knows _. He has the information right there, and it is all for the taking. It’s_ his _._

_He stands and walks to the door, intending to join the crew. He meets his own gaze in a mirror in the corner—he swears he sees a flash of red._

_He smiles._

**Author's Note:**

> Hmm... I may have just poured all of my feelings into a medium-lengthed story-ramble.
> 
> Anywhoo, reviews are always appreciated!


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